


The Greatest Gift of All

by PhiraLovesLoki



Series: Captain Swan Tumblr Prompts [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Sex, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:52:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma pulls out all the stops for Killian’s birthday, but there’s only one thing he really wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Greatest Gift of All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainswanismyendgame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainswanismyendgame/gifts).



> Happy (super belated) birthday, captainswanismyendgame! I won't spoil the specific nature of the prompt for this story, but it was a lot of fun to write!
> 
> If it wasn't extremely clear from the rating and the tags, this story has explicit sexual content in it.
> 
> This story will obviously be canon divergent by the time season 5 rolls around, but basically, it’s set after Emma is de-Dark One’d.

It was late by the time Killian returned home from the Rabbit Hole. Swan had been quite obsessed, it seemed, with making sure that his birthday was as extravagant as possible, and while that woman’s love for him never ceased to amaze him (he’d been sure he’d win her heart, but he could never have accurately imagined just what it would feel like to do so), he was still unprepared for all the fanfare.

He stepped foot on the _Jolly Roger,_ grateful that he’d be able to rest soon. He’d been awakened early by a text message from Swan, reminding him to come to Granny’s for celebratory breakfast. He’d grown quite fond of pancakes since his arrival in Storybrooke, and it had been relaxing and quite heartwarming to spend the morning with Swan, her parents, and Henry (though he left the hot cocoa and cinnamon to them; he still hadn’t acquired a taste for the sugary sweet beverage).

He’d thought that would be all, but Swan had insisted that the day was still young, and that she had so much more left on schedule. Apparently, what had been next was a long sail with her and Henry, during which they ate the lunch Swan had brought with her in a basket. It had been wonderful to sail through the harbor and into the ocean; while he was used to living in Storybrooke and had accepted that the residency may be permanent, it was freeing to escape the confines of the town, even for an afternoon. And out on the open ocean, with the woman he loved and the boy who was beginning to feel like a son, it had been easy to forget his troubles.

When they’d reached the dock and Henry grabbed the basket of leftovers and waved goodbye, Killian had wondered if perhaps he could either convince Swan to stay onboard for a while for some much needed private time, or if the day’s festivities were over so he could relax and sip some rum while reading a good book. But instead, she’d steered him down the gangplank and drove him back to town, where he had a tea date with Belle.

The friendship he shared with the librarian had been strained ever since Emma had become the Dark One, and Belle had resumed her relationship with the Crocodile. Even after the evil power had been destroyed, and Emma returned to her Savior self, things between himself and Belle had not improved. He did supposed he was being stubborn, but he’d also been sure that his nemesis was doing his part to poison his wife’s feelings.

They’d exchanged some significantly harsh words all those weeks ago, and that was practically the last time they’d spoken. And the cursory “Excuse me” at Granny’s hardly counted as a conversation.

And so Killian had been reluctant to return to Granny’s, where Emma insisted Belle was waiting. Why she’d insisted on a public venue was beyond him, and if she was so insistent on giving him a great birthday, he didn’t understand why she’d go ahead and ruin it by forcing him into a confrontation.

But, of course, the damn woman had known him better than he could ever hope to know himself. Within minutes, he and Belle had risen from their seats to hug each other fiercely, each trying to soothe the other with words of forgiveness. Henry had arrived after a couple of hours to bring him to the next birthday event scheduled, and it had been difficult for him to leave. Only Henry insisting that Swan was waiting for him had been enough to convince him to end his conversation with Belle, and he’d resolved to immediately thank his beautiful girlfriend for returning his friendship to him.

His thanks had to wait. He’d met Swan at the restaurant where they’d spent their first date, and perhaps for that reason, he’d expected her to dress similarly, in something soft and feminine. But instead, he’d arrived to find her in a dress that, back in the Enchanted Forest, would have hardly deserved the term, and his mind had been blissfully blank as she laughed softly (but kindly) at his reaction and ordered wine and appetizers while he regained the ability to speak.

He’d hoped that the romantic dinner date would lead to them returning to his ship for some privacy, especially given the suggestive glances she’d been directing at him (and the foot that she’d been rubbing against his leg). However, after enjoying a shared dessert, she’d paid the bill (against his protestations), dragged him back downtown, and directed him to the Rabbit Hole before kissing him goodnight. He’d been confused and disappointed, but then he entered the tavern to find David, Robin, Smee, Will, August, and an assortment of other Storybrooke men, ready to continue the celebration.

Dave was still his closest mate in Storybrooke, with Robin a close second, but he’d grown close to Will after his break-up with Belle. He tolerated August for Swan’s sake, but had trouble telling where he stood with the fellow. Either way, everyone had seemed keen on buying him beer and rum, and they’d collectively played so many rounds of pool and darts and dice that, by the end of the night, no one had been bothered to determine who owed money to whom. (He wondered now who had paid the tab.)

There only disappointment, he thought to himself, as he made his way over to the hatch to head below deck, was that he had no time alone with Swan all day. It seemed silly to be so disappointed, especially given how little he cared about his own birthday. But she had insisted it was a big deal, and gone to such lengths to make such a perfect day for him. It was strange and dispiriting that she’d failed to see that, if there _was_ anything he would ask for on his birthday, it would be _her._ Just _her._

But to his surprise, as entered his cabin, there were lamps and candles lit. He’d have been curious—he never left flames unattended on his ship—but the solution to the mystery seemed to be sitting up on his bed.

It was Swan. And she appeared to be entirely wrapped in glossy paper tied with ribbon. “Hey, sailor,” she said huskily.

“Well, that hardly looks comfortable,” he said with a grin. “I’d ask what the occasion was, but I can guess.” She rolled her eyes. “What on earth is all this?”

“It’s wrapping paper. You’ve seen it. Remember that stuff you helped me wrap Henry’s birthday presents with?”

Ah, yes. “Helped.” He had remembered giving up because he’d kept tearing the paper by accident (and then purposefully, in frustration). As he stepped closer, he saw that she was indeed wrapped in the same paper, with the words “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” written all over in various fonts and colors. “And why, my love, are you confined in this material?”

“You wrap gifts in wrapping paper. Get it?”

“So the family breakfast, the picnic on the ocean, the reconciliation with Belle, the romantic dinner date, and the night at the bar with the fellows—those weren’t gifts?”

“Well, maybe, but can’t I give you one more?”

“I’m certainly not complaining.” He stepped up to her and examined the paper more closely. “Love, how on earth did you manage this? Where are your arms?”

She blushed and averted her eyes. “I may have had help.”

He couldn’t help but laugh a little. “And whom, pray tell, did you enlist?”

“Ruby. And she promised up and down that she wouldn’t tell a soul, so you’d better not tell anyone either.”

“Why not?” Perhaps it was a little silly—Henry would probably say “cheesy”—but it was quite charming that she would wrap herself up and pretend to be a gift. But before he could launch into some romantic speech about how she had been, without any doubt, the greatest gift he could ever have imagined, how the gift of her love had changed his life in so many beautiful ways—

“Because I’m naked under here.”

Bloody hell.

All that hard work she’d put in was undone in moments as he tore the paper and ribbon apart with his hook. True to her word, she was indeed bare underneath. She’d taken to occasionally dressing up in lingerie to impress him, but he’d always preferred to be seduced by her entirely naked form, without any accoutrements. She was already a vision; she didn’t need any improvement.

She helped him shove away the remains of the wrapping paper as quickly as possible; it was everywhere, including beneath her, and he didn’t want to have to listen to it rustling as he ravished her. The thought of it crinkling underneath her as he licked her and drank her in was entirely unappealing … and he certainly wasn’t going to wait any longer for that birthday present.

She gasped as he knelt and shoved his head between her thighs. “I thought it was _your_ birthday,” she said; she was breathless, but he could still hear her amusement.

“It is, and this is so much better than _any_ of the meals I’ve had today,” he murmured, before glancing up at her, licking his lips, winking, and getting to work.

He loved tasting her. As a sailor, he’d spent plenty of time hearing other mariners discussing sexual prowess, in all sorts of contexts. There’d been the time Liam had spoken to him in embarrassed, hushed tones about how it was important, as a gentleman, to make sure a woman was sated before he should seek his own pleasure. There had been the nights on the _Jolly_ where his crew had bragged about their ability to bring women to climax with their clever tongues. But there had always been the implication: do it for her because it’ll make you a good lover; do it for her so you can enjoy yourself after.

But this was one of the many ways he _did_ enjoy himself, and with Swan, the pleasure he took in performing this task was unmatched. He could never get enough of the way her thighs wrapped around his head, or the sweet taste of her, or the way her juices coated his tongue, his lips, his face, her skin. He loved hearing the expletives she shouted when he finally took her swollen clit into his mouth and sucked _just_ hard enough.

It took only a few short minutes for him to bring her to the edge and over. She must have been quite worked up as she waited her for him; he suspected that if he took the time to sort through the mess of paper on the floor, he’d find the piece that she’d sat directly upon slick with her arousal.

He rose to find a cloth to wipe his face; Swan would tolerate tasting herself on his lips but had recently confessed to him that she preferred not to. “How is it possible that you get better at that _every_ time?” she called out. She was still splayed out on the bed, as though completely incapacitated (and perhaps she was).

“Would you like me to repeat a tired platitude regarding the benefits of practice?” he asked before cleaning his face. He couldn’t resist inhaling the scent of the cloth once he’d finished.

“Just get your ass over here.”

“Oh, are you making demands?” He grinned as he dropped the cloth and approached the bed. “I thought it was _my_ birthday.”

“You could make demands if you wanted,” she said. She was rarely shy with him, but he could tell that she was still trying to give him what she thought was the best birthday possible. This was her way of asking what sort of love-making he wanted to engage in, and the uncertainty in her voice suggested that she was worried he would opt for whichever he thought she’d preferred.

To be fair, though, that was always the problem with Emma Swan: there were so many ways he wanted to make love to her that often, it was easiest to follow her lead, to have her the way she wanted to be had, and to obey her orders, even if her only demand was that he be the one giving them. It would have been easy for him to ask her, as a favor to him, to be the one to decide. But then again, in the grand scheme of things, the best way to thank her for the incredible day she’d given him (the incredible _future_ she’d given him), would be to take the reins and determine the way they’d make love tonight.

He assessed her, still flushed and spread out on the narrow bunk, eyes glinting with arousal and interest. She seemed ready for anything he asked of her, and ready to anticipate his needs. She must have been in this state for the entire day, he realized, and probably since even before then. After all, the restaurant reservations must have been made in advance, and it probably had taken some time to convince Belle to meet him for tea.

The least he could do to thank her would be to relieve her of the burden of having to decide or plan anything.

“Is that so?” he asked, reaching behind him for a chair and making a great show of sitting down in it. “You’re implying that anyone else but the _captain_ would be allowed to make demands on his own ship?” He raised an eyebrow in mock seriousness.

She grinned widely before trying to regain some composure. He’d certainly made the right decision; she’d probably been hoping for this. “I’m sorry,” she said, before quickly adding, “Captain.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to atone for your mistake. I’ve all sorts of uses for a wench like you here on my ship.”

“Is that so?” He clenched his jaw, not wanting to correct her for omitting his title; she was always incredibly cheeky even when she was trying to play a submissive role.

“Absolutely,” he continued instead. “For example, I find that my trousers have become a bit uncomfortable, and I wish to have them undone in order to rectify that situation. Make yourself useful, love.”

Swan rose from the bed and walked to him, kicking some of the discarded wrapping paper out of her way as she did so. She held his gaze as she reached down and worked the buckle of his belt and the fly of his jeans. She was careful to minimize contact with his erection, which was something he’d impressed upon her during previous role play sessions (that she should follow the only orders given to her). “Good girl,” he said roughly, and he could see her tremble slightly at the words. His cock, free of his trousers, bobbed appreciatively at her subtle physical reaction.

“Thank you, Captain. Is there anything else I can do for you?” She was trying to hide her smirk. If he hadn’t known just how much she enjoyed being his wench, he’d assume she was mocking him. But he _did_ know just how much she enjoyed it. And he enjoyed it, too.

“That mouth of yours is pretty, but smart,” he replied. “It’s time you put it to better use.” He eyed her knees; perhaps he needed to check in with her. “Any questions?”

“May I use a blanket, Captain?” It was a good thing he’d checked in. Sometimes, she liked having physical reminders of their activities, but not always.

“You may. I’d hate to scuff up your pretty little knees. Get to it.”

And get to it, she did. Once she’d grabbed a spare blanket off the bed, she knelt between his knees and took his cock between her lips. The anticipation all day, wondering if they’d go to bed together, was all too much, and he couldn’t help but buck into her mouth. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she glanced up at him with an expression he knew to mean _damn, you’re desperate_ , and decided no apology was needed. But if he was in charge tonight, it was time to keep that attitude of hers in check.

“That’s right, love,” he said roughly as she swirled her tongue under the head of his cock. “I do love the wicked things you can do with that tongue of yours.” She flicked at the spot again before gently sucking; he grunted before maintaining his composure. He still had a role to play, and this was never only about his own pleasure. “I bet you love this. I bet you were dreaming of this all day. While we were eating dinner, I’d wager your panties were soaked thinking about what I was going to do to you tonight.”

She briefly released him to say, in a low voice, “I wasn’t wearing any panties tonight,” before sliding her lips back over him. He groaned and shut his eyes; she was misbehaving, but he’d be damned if he would interrupt her now. Of _course_ she wasn’t wearing anything underneath that flimsy excuse for a dress tonight.

“You weren’t wearing a bra either, were you?” he asked, recalling how erect her nipples had been as she’d leaned towards him and run her foot up his leg. Her confirmation was muffled by her full mouth. “You wanton lass. Begging to be used. I’m going to fuck you so hard, the way you’ll walk for the next week will make it clear to _everyone_ just what I did to you.” She responded by gripping the base of his shaft and taking him as far in as she could.

At this rate, he wasn’t going to last long enough to make good on his promise. “Enough.” She released him with a wet “pop” and rolled back on her heels to look up at him, unintentionally giving him a clear view of her glistening sex. “Looks like you’ve already gotten yourself in quite the state. Do you enjoy letting pirates use you, lass?”

She smiled slyly. “Just the one. Captain.”

“Good girl. Up against the ladder.” He hoped he’d be able to stave off his own climax long enough to have her in more than just this position, but she so _clearly_ wanted him to fuck her like a pirate. He wouldn’t deny a lady such a wish.

He was acutely aware that she was nude while he was nearly completely clothed; besides his trousers being undone, he was otherwise fully dressed. But it did add to the experience, reminding him of the days when sex was just about fucking someone and then going about his day, as opposed to the romantic and sensual activity he and Swan typically engaged in. His desire for both versions of the act—the lewd, impersonal one and the loving and emotional one—would have to motivate him to hold back enough to enjoy both tonight.

They were well-practiced in this position, and it took no effort at all for him to find her entrance. She was so hot and wet that he nearly slid into her, with only a little bit of gentle thrusting necessary before he was in her completely. The gasp she let out nearly wrecked him, and he had to sink his hook into the wood of the ladder to keep from falling into her.

Gods, she felt incredible. She always felt incredible.

He started thrusting, more gently than he typically would, but he needed to make sure this lasted. To compensate, he reached for her right breast and grabbed it roughly, thumbing her already hard nipple. “Is this what you wanted, love?” he whispered into her ear. “To be taken from behind like a common wench?” She whimpered happily in reply. “Everyone thinks you’re such a prim and proper princess, but I know just what you really crave.” He thrust harder, and after giving her one last bruising squeeze, he dropped her breast and moved his hand between her legs.

“Oh, _Captain.”_

He groaned. She’d probably been planning _that_ all day, too. Even when they were role playing, by the time they were in the throes of passion, she’d frequently forget how she was supposed to address him and simply use his name. Knowing she’d used his title deliberately was incredibly arousing, and he had to slow down again to keep himself from coming.

Instead, he focused on her. “That’s right, love.” He alternated between rubs that were fast and soft, and ones that were harder and slower. “I am the captain of this ship. Everything on board belongs to me.” She panted as he sped up his hand. “And you _happen_ to have put yourself aboard my ship. What does that make you, darling?” He slowed down again; she was very close, but he wanted to give her time to respond.

“Yours.” There was no hesitation. Gods, she was doing to be his undoing—and he couldn’t be happier.

“Right you are, love. Mine.” He resumed his previous pace, and in moments, she was falling apart, calling out his name, and squeezing him hard. Had he been any closer to his own climax, he would have tumbled over the edge with her.

It took her a few moments to recover. “Oh god, that was intense. You didn’t come?”

“Not yet.” He was happy that she’d had her fill (literally) of pirate for the night, so that he wouldn’t disappoint her by dropping this particular façade. “You all right, love?”

“Never better.” She turned to face him as he slid out of her; her face was flushed and happy. “Holding back for a particular reason?”

He wriggled his hook free from the wood so that he could take both her hands in his (for them, of course, it meant him taking her left hand, and her gripping his hook with her right). “Perhaps I couldn’t decide how I wanted to take you tonight.”

She hummed appreciatively before leaning into him for a kiss. She dropped his hand and hook and began working the buttons of his waistcoat. He reached to help, and before long, both his waistcoat and shirt were open, easily shucked off. He gently switched places with her so that he could lean against the ladder and pull off his shoes; she took the hint and pulled his socks and trousers off as well before pulling him towards the bed.

As they reached their destination, she crawled atop the sheets, and he paused to remove his hook and brace. As evidenced by the activity they’d been engaged in moments ago, he frequently wore the attachment during intercourse. But sometimes, he wanted to be able to make love to her without worrying about whether or not he might scratch her.

He lowered himself on top of her and worked his way back inside her. He thought that perhaps he might flip over; while it meant that she would have to set the pace, it would be much easier to guarantee her third climax of the night.

But she seemed to have other ideas. As soon as he was buried to the hilt, she wrapped her legs around him and began whispering into his ear. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she began. “Just imagining having you come back here and tear open your _gift._ I was so wet thinking about it during dinner, I’m going to have to wash my dress.”

He groaned incoherently—it was all too much, being inside her now, and thinking about how hot and bothered she was all night, knowing this would happen. She continued to whisper encouragement as he picked up the pace. It took only a minute for him to come, moaning her name loudly enough that anyone within earshot of the docks would know exactly what they were up to.

“Happy birthday, Killian,” she whispered to him once he’d shifted off of her to rest by her side. “Did I do all right?”

“You were magnificent, as always, my love.” He reached towards her to cup her face with his hand. “I could not have asked for a more wonderful way to celebrate.”

She frowned. “I did something wrong, didn’t I?”

“Why would you think that?” He dropped his hand and sat up. “Swan, today was absolutely incredible.”

“You’re an open book, too, you know,” she reminded him. “Come on. We’ve talked about this. We don’t keep secrets from each other. You can be honest with me.”

He sighed. “Swan, today was really wonderful. But you weren’t that far off with your last gift of the day.”

“What do you mean?” She coaxed him to lie back down, and she gently wrapped her arms around him.

“I would have been more than satisfied with _this_ gift, love. You. Everything else was wonderful, but I spent the day and evening wondering if I could just have _you.”_

She laughed, to his surprise. “How is that amusing?” he asked. Here he was, ungrateful man, admitting that he couldn’t quite appreciate all the lovely gifts she’d bestowed upon him all day, simply because he was thinking with his cock.

“I was worried that _this_ wouldn’t be enough of a birthday gift for you. Did you really think I’d celebrate your birthday with you and _not_ fuck your brains out?”

“Well, that’s a coarse way to phrase it.”

“I wasn’t just talking dirty when I told you I was going to have to wash my dress,” she said, smirking in the low light of the cabin. “Seriously, Killian, I’m _glad_ this is what you’d been looking forward to. It was _very_ difficult to sit through breakfast, lunch, and dinner and _not_ be able to have my way with you.” Her grin widened. “I guess I know what I’m getting you next year.”

“And I suppose I know what I’ll be getting you,” he said, smiling back. He hummed thoughtfully.

“What is it?”

“Well, you had Ruby’s help. Whom shall _I_ enlist to wrap my naked body with paper?” She swatted his shoulder in annoyance. “Now, my closest friend in this town happens to be your father. Do you think he’d be up for the task?”

“Stop it.”

“Or shall I ask Robin? I’m sure he wouldn’t let slip of our activities to Regina.”

“Killian.”

“You’re right, Swan. This is a gift _for you._ So I should ask someone _you’re_ friends with. Perhaps August? I’ve been meaning to get to know him better.”

“How do I make this stop?”

“Come up with a better suggestion?”

She groaned. “You’re the worst.”

“Am I truly?”

“Yes.” She leaned in and kissed him gently. “And I love you anyway.”

“And I you, Emma.” She nestled into his chest, flicking her hand to douse the candles and lamps in the room. “Maybe Will Scarlet will help me.”

Her irritated grumble was the last thing he heard before sleep claimed him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
